


Forbidden Fruit

by janeofarc



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale's Bookshop, Domestic Bliss, Established Relationship, Fluff, I Will Not Proofread And You Can't Make Me, Idiots in Love, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), It's My Party And I'll Quote Paradise Lost If I Want To, M/M, Pet Names, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Short & Sweet, also stupid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2020-05-18 13:12:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19335211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janeofarc/pseuds/janeofarc
Summary: The small, kindly little man who ran a London bookshop was smiling as warmly as he had been a moment ago—except now he was smiling as a truly massive snake, dark scales glittering blue-orange in the low light of the bookshop, coiled itself around his shoulders, its intelligent yellow eyes meeting hers from where its head sat perched on the bookseller’s collarbone.“I—er—that’s—that’s a snake,” Madeleine managed shakily, still transfixed by the yellow eyes which stared resolutely into hers. The snake flicked its tongue. She shuddered.“Oh, yes, that’s just Peaches,” the man said cheerfully, setting the now-wrapped book down on the counter with one hand and reaching up to lightly stroke the small patch of cream-colored scales (because of which Madeleine supposed the creature had gotten its name) on the snake’s head with the other.In which Aziraphale tries to actually sell a book, Crowley is difficult, and an angel and a demon are very much in love.





	Forbidden Fruit

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a sucker for snake Crowley and for silly domestic nonsense, and this is what came of it.

Finally satisfied with the rare edition she had selected as she wandered through the cozy little shop, Madeleine Hugo sidled up to the counter tucked away in the corner of the shop, clearing her throat mildly to gain the attention of the rosy-cheeked little man she assumed must be the owner, who was apparently so engrossed in the book he was reading that Madeleine wondered how his nose wasn’t obscuring his view. He sat up straight with a little start as he noticed the young woman, setting his book gingerly on the counter and pushing his silver spectacles haphazardly into his crop of unwieldy platinum curls.

“Oh, good afternoon, dear,” the man said absent-mindedly, suspiciously eyeing the book Madeleine had set upon the counter in front of him. “Found something you like, then?”

She could swear she heard just a touch of resentment in his voice. But Madeleine smiled back anyway, unable to resist the thrill of the lovely volume she had just been cradling.

“Oh, yes,” she said excitedly, her dark curls catching the soft yellow light as she reached forward to brush the spine of the book with two fingers.

“You have the most wonderful collection!” she continued, finally looking up from the book to the man behind the counter. “I don’t know how you can bear to part with any of them,” she added wistfully—followed by the distinct impression that she had not meant to say that aloud. Or even at all. She had yet _another_ distinct impression that the shop’s owner somehow had a better idea why she had said such a thing than she did herself. 

“Well, to be quite honest, I very rarely do,” the bookseller replied softly. “Part with them, that is. They’re like pets, you see, I have to make sure they’re going to a good home.” The man’s gaze switched from looking at his books to looking at his customer, watching her for a long moment and leaving Madeleine feeling as though she had just been judged, though she could not imagine what for. She stared at him, bewildered, and he seemed to sense her confusion as he shook his head, as though clearing it of whatever thoughts had just been within. He cleared his throat.

“Anyway,” the man said briskly, “let’s see what you’ve found!” Madeleine watched as the man turned the book gently toward him, a soft smile on his face as he read the title.

“ _Paradise Lost_ ,” he read, reciting the title almost as if it were a prayer.

“It’s something of a favorite of mine,” Madeleine replied earnestly. The man looked back at her, wearing the first genuine smile she had seen from the man that was directed at something other than a book.

“Bone of my bone thou art, and from thy state…” he quoted, his voice sounding dreamy and far away. His eyes fluttered closed, lost in a memory or a dream. Madeleine felt a sudden surge of fondness for the little bookseller and decided she should pick up where he had left off.

“Mine never shall be parted, bliss or woe,” she finished in a near-whisper, charmed by this odd moment shared with a stranger. The man opened his eyes, blinking back the thin film of tears and smiling warmly at the young woman.

“Yes, I rather think you should have this one,” he said dreamily, lifting the book and beginning to wrap it in thick white paper. “Suits you.”

Madeleine was rather puzzled by the implication that the transaction had heretofore been uncertain as she stared at the guileless expression on the bookseller’s face, but she tore her gaze away from him to rifle through the pockets of her black leather jacket for her purse nonetheless. Where was the damned thing?

“How much?” she muttered distractedly, finally seizing her billfold and lifting her head to look at the bookseller. Her joyous reunion with her bills was short-lived, as she promptly dropped it loudly and unceremoniously on the counter as soon as she had finished looking up.

The small, kindly little man who ran a London bookshop was smiling as warmly as he had been a moment ago—except now he was smiling as a truly massive snake, dark scales glittering blue-orange in the low light of the bookshop, coiled itself around his shoulders, its intelligent yellow eyes meeting hers from where its head sat perched on the bookseller’s collarbone.

“I—er—that’s—that’s a snake,” Madeleine managed shakily, still transfixed by the yellow eyes which stared resolutely into hers. The snake flicked its tongue. She shuddered.

“Oh, yes, that’s just Peaches,” the man said cheerfully, setting the now-wrapped copy of _Paradise Lost_ down on the counter with one hand and reaching up to lightly stroke the small patch of cream-colored scales (because of which Madeleine supposed the creature had gotten its name) on the snake’s head with the other.

“He really is a dear old thing, don’t be frightened. Timid as a rabbit,” the bookseller said, watching fondly as the snake coiled its tail around one of his arms. The creature’s eyes narrowed almost petulantly as the man spoke, but they soon drifted closed, a serene expression on its face, as the bookseller continued to run gentle fingers over its nose.

“You can pet him, if you like,” the man said after a long moment, grinning at his startled customer. At that the snakes eyes flashed open and it hissed loudly, flashing sharp teeth in what Madeleine felt was meant to be her direction specifically.

“Oh, hush now, you ornery thing,” the book seller scolded, almost as though he thought the creature should know better. The snake stared at him for a long moment, then settled back down on the man’s shoulder with a resigned flick of its forked tongue, closing its eyes again as the gentle stroking of its nose resumed. The bookseller looked back to Madeleine expectantly, as though he was still uncertain whether or not she would like to pet the snake that had just given her the strong impression that it would like to make her its next meal.

“I…no, thank you,” Madeleine responded shortly, her voice thin with lingering anxiety as she picked up her purse once again.

“As you like it, dear,” the man replied mildly. “Here’s your book, in any case.” He handed the parcel to her, smiling warmly at her. She took the book gingerly from the man’s outstretched hand, watching the snake warily as she did so, as if she expected it to snap it her. The snake just watched her in return with what Madeleine would have called bored curiosity, if she had been inclined to believe a reptile was capable of that sort of ennui.

“How much?” she asked again, vaguely remembering that that was how these things were supposed to go. The bookseller looked as confused as she felt.

“Oh, er,” he stammered, flushing slightly read as he fumbled for a number.

“Ten pounds?” he managed uncertainly, sounding as though he may as well have been talking about monopoly money, for all he cared. Madeleine, for her part, seemed suddenly lost in thought. She passed the bills over the counter to her strange friend wordlessly, neither of them sparing a thought for the absurdity of such a price for the remarkable item Madeleine now held cradled to her chest.

“Thank you,” she managed politely, sparing one final glance at the antiquarian and his massive pet as she bundled her scarf more tightly around her neck and opened the door of the shop.

The bell on the door chimed softly as it closed behind the young woman, and Aziraphale sighed at the lanky man now standing behind him, one arm curled around the shorter man’s chest and the other propped on his shoulder to support the hand that had found its way into golden curls.

“ _Peaches_ , angel?” Crowley hissed. Aziraphale laughed and the demon scowled back at him. “I was only trying to help!”

“Now really, darling,” Aziraphale said primly, reaching for the demon’s hand and tugging at it until Crowley relented and slithered around to stand in front of him. “You didn’t need to frighten the poor thing so, it was just the one book. And I already have that rather lovely first edition you gave me hidden in the back, and she was so happy about it…”

Crowley lifted his dark glasses from the bridge of his nose and pushed them into his hair, so that Aziraphale had a clear view of the demon rolling his eyes.

“You, angel, are too good,” Crowley said, raising an eyebrow accusingly. “You helped a demon thwart the Apocalypse, but yet you’re still too… _heavenly_ to turn away a girl buying a book.”

“Yes, well, I _wanted_ her to have the book, my dear,” Aziraphale replied.

“What on earth for?”

A deep blush crept up the angel’s neck and onto his cheeks, and Crowley grinned at him wickedly.

“She reminded me of you,” Aziraphale admitted quietly.

“Always a sucker for a pretty face, you,” Crowley replied cheekily, earning him a light smack on his arm from the angel.

“That’s not the point,” Aziraphale retorted quickly. His face, if it was possible, was now an even brighter shade of red.

“It was a silly thing, really, I just…I just remembered when you gave me my copy and it just. Felt a bit like returning the favor, is all. In a—a sort of cosmic sense, if you will,” he finished meekly, suddenly becoming very interested in his shoes and consequently failing to notice the way Crowley’s lips had quirked upward at the angel’s soft admission. 

“I’ll tell you how you can return the favor, angel,” Crowley said sweetly, lifting Aziraphale’s chin with an outstretched finger and winking once he was satisfied he had caught the angel’s eye. Aziraphale raised an indignant eyebrow and opened his mouth, undoubtedly to tell Crowley to behave himself, for heaven’s sake, but Crowley spoke first.

“You can never, _ever_ , call me Peaches again,” he said, trying very hard to sound menacing and, you know, demonic. “That should have been the _real_ forbidden fruit…makes me sound like I’m some kind of dessert.” Aziraphale laughed brightly at that and Crowley realized the unwitting ammunition he had just given the angel. Aziraphale took a deep breath, positively brimming with gleeful anticipation. 

“But, my dear, you’re so sweet!” he declared, laughing heartily as Crowley pouted. 

“Alright, I may have set you up for that one,” Crowley began evenly, as though this was a most generous confession. “But I most certainly am _not_ ,” he continued, wearing the same petulant expression he had as a snake when Aziraphale had first come up with the atrocious moniker, “sweet.”

He twisted his expression into the best picture of hellish rage he could muster, but the effect was somewhat ruined by his flushed cheeks as Aziraphale pressed closer, wrapping his arms around the besotted demon.

And the effect was ruined entirely when Aziraphale leaned forward and pressed a tender kiss to Crowley’s lips.

“I’m very fearsome,” Crowley protested weakly. “Great and terrible to behold.”

“Of course you are, darling,” the angel replied indulgently, lifting one hand to pat Crowley’s cheek and laughing as the demon playfully snapped still snake-like teeth at his outstretched fingers. Crowley’s sour expression at Aziraphale’s mirth only made the angel laugh harder as he leaned forward and kissed Crowley again.

“Oh, to heaven with it,” Crowley muttered, his voice slightly muffled as he leaned forward to press his face into Aziraphale’s neck at precisely the same spot he had selected as a snake a few minutes before. Aziraphale laughed again, softer this time, and began to run a gentle hand through Crowley’s hair.

“Come along then, you poor, great-and-terrible thing,” Aziraphale said sympathetically. “Let’s close up the shop and then see about a bottle of wine, hmm? I have a lovely little French vintage, from Savoy in fact, that might do the job just perfectly.”

“You play dirty, angel,” Crowley said, lifting his head from Aziraphale’s neck. “You know I love Savoyard wine.”

“Is that so, my dear?” Aziraphale replied mildly, as though he didn’t remember perfectly the fact that Crowley had spent the better part of the 1750s in the French Alps, supposedly creating chaos with the smuggler Louis Mandrin and his ring of petty thieves, but mostly getting drunk on some of their questionably acquired wares instead.

“Treacherous as a ssssserpent,” Crowley hissed dramatically, knowing he would be rewarded with the bright and warm sound of Aziraphale’s laughter. “That’s a sin, you know—or so I’ve been told.”

“What can I say, darling?” Aziraphale said, taking one of Crowley’s hands and leading him towards the stairs. “Can it be sin to know?”

“That’s _Paradise Lost_ again, isn’t it,” Crowley replied, despite already knowing that, yes, of course it was. “And that falls just short of blasphemy, doesn’t it just?”

Aziraphale chuckled quietly, threading his arm through Crowley’s as they ascended the stairs.

“Perhaps, my love,” the angel said sweetly, “but it seems… _ineffable_ that six thousand years with Eden’s wiliest serpent has taught me just the tiniest something about temptation.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on Tumblr @crowleysdear, come scream with me


End file.
